Akin to Love
by Rhianwen
Summary: Lucca and Magus have a conversation that leads her to certain inevitable truths. Weird. First and foremost, it's weird. But kind of sweet, too, if you like the Lucca/Magus pairing. Written under the influence of sleep deprivation. Be warned.


Akin To Love  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, they still don't like me. See? If you listen very carefully, you can hear them plotting my demise. Anyway, they're owned, as far as I know, by Squaresoft.  
  
  
  
Notes: [Sigh] Okay, one of these days, I'm gunna stop stealing titles from Lucy Maud Montgomery and just make one up myself. But not today, as the only other thing I could think of was ripped off from Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical, 'Aspects of Love.' 'Akin to Love' just sounded slightly less cheesy than 'Live or Perish in its Flame.'  
  
  
  
Lucca shivered as a breeze swept in from an open window, brushing gently over the heated skin of her back and shoulders. She pulled the blankets up more tightly around her, and buried her face in the pillow, smothering a yawn. It really was time, she supposed, that she left, went back to her own room, and went calmly and sensibly to sleep. Somehow, though, still weary from their shared activities of earlier, the aftershock of that indescribable sensation still rippling through her, and the pleasant warmth radiating from the man stretched out next to her, it was surprisingly difficult to move.  
  
Perhaps he wouldn't mind if she stayed a little longer...  
  
"Why do you do this?"  
  
The question, asked softly in a deep, smooth voice, shattered her train of thought. For a moment too startled to reply, she simply turned over on her side, the brush of skin against fabric seeming impossibly loud in the silent room, and gazed at him, blinking. This was certainly not like him. Normally, he would remain completely silent following their trysts, leaving it entirely to her when she left. It was seldom that he would even bid her good-night. Finally, finding her own voice, she spoke.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed at her searchingly, long blue hair, silvery in the moonlight streaming through the window, brushing the pillow. She shivered, recalling the feel of those silken strands gliding over her skin as they made love...for lack of a better description.  
  
"I think you know."  
  
"This? Well, I thought it had something to do with the indulgence of a common natural instinct, providing a little enjoyment to two creatures who otherwise find little."  
  
"Not that," he said, annoyance creeping into his tone. "Earlier tonight."  
  
Ah. That. So he had chosen to remark on it.  
  
  
  
Earlier that evening, after watching the ordinarily innocent flirting between Crono and his little princess grow more heated and more intimate for as long as she could stand it, she had excused herself on grounds of a severe headache, flown up the bare painted wooden stairs of the inn to her own room and flung herself down on the carpet next to the bed, nearly choking on her sobs in the effort to keep them unheard. Finally, unable to stand the fierce ache in her heart any longer, and desperate to clasp another human hand, she had stood, left her room, and, hardly aware of doing it, let alone of why, had crept down the hall to another room, and had rapped softly on the door. When he had opened the door, she had asked, smiling weakly, but with tears still streaming down her cheeks, if he wanted company. Without a word, eyes unreadable, he had stepped aside and opened the door fully for her to step through. Once inside, she had hovered nervously, stealing glances at him that were nearly shy. Shutting the door with a soft click and sliding the chain lock into place, he had turned around to face her, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow curiously. Then, when it looked as though he planned to speak, to comment on her tears, to ask a question, she had flung herself at him and covered his mouth with her own, kissing him feverishly. He had kissed her back just as heatedly, both tearing at each other's clothes, and from then on, no coherent words had been heard in the small room.  
  
  
  
Before now.  
  
"I-I still don't know what you mean. Why do I do what?"  
  
He sighed.  
  
"Keep coming to me when you're hopelessly in love with another man," he began.  
  
"I didn't think-"  
  
"Continue to pine over him when it's entirely obvious that nothing will come of it," he continued, not leaving her a chance to finish.  
  
"It's not so easy to get over these things," she said softly, eyes downcast.  
  
"No, not if you're a fool, I suppose."  
  
"A fool?" she repeated, keeping incredulity and offence from her tone with an effort. She was unaccustomed to being named a fool, of all things, and found it hardly pleasant.  
  
"Yes, a fool," he confirmed, a vaguely mocking smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, yes, to be sure, I've never seen your equal where matters of science are concerned, but you fall sadly short when it comes to life, and the people around you."  
  
"I understand a lot more about life than you might think," she assured him coldly, turning away.  
  
Draping one arm across her waist, he pulled her closer, absently tracing imaginary patterns over her stomach.  
  
"Do you?" he murmured against her ear. "Do you understand that Crono and Marle are each what the other has been searching for their entire lives? Do you understand that, although you will never fill the same role for him that she does, you still hold a very important one, one that should not be shirked merely because you wish for something more? Do you understand that all is not over for you, that you still have the chance to etch out a reasonably happy existence for yourself?"  
  
"Reasonably happy? How?" she asked softly, flopping over onto her back and staring unseeingly up at the ceiling. He leaned over her, brushing a tendril of hair from her eyes.  
  
"For example, I happen to know that that idiot Glenn is rather fond of you."  
  
"Froggy? You're insane," she proclaimed, an oddly heavy sensation settling over her at the fact that Glenn's was the first name he had chosen to mention.  
  
"Many people have told me that," he agreed with a soft, bitter laugh, stroking her collarbone. "But in this, I am far more sane than you seem to be capable of being. Glenn would, indeed, be willing and able to offer you a much more pleasant existence than you could build alone. There would be no real love," he continued, staving off her protests with a hand, "as he is unable to love anyone the way he once loved Cyrus-" She saw a faint glimmer of guilt in his eyes at these words. "- and you seem to believe yourself incapable of loving anyone other than Crono."  
  
At this, he abruptly withdrew his hand and looked away. After a long pause, he continued briskly.  
  
"No love, but there could be affection. Certainly better than aching loneliness, wouldn't you agree, Pyro?"  
  
She sighed, refusing to answer. He chuckled.  
  
"Come, now. Be sensible. Don't like to hear the truth, is that it? You're a big girl. You can handle it. Hell, even I wouldn't be adverse to the idea of taking you for a wife, to taking care of you. I'm sure the two of us could eke out a reasonably happy existence together. We know that we have this," he said, a sweeping gesture encompassing the bed, their bodies intertwined. "Happy unions have been built on less."  
  
"Is that a proposal?" she asked dryly, with a faint smile.  
  
"You may take it as you like."  
  
She turned to face him, peering at him curiously.  
  
"But could you really just stay in one place?"  
  
"No, I couldn't," he agreed softly. "I never took you for the type that would settle down to a commonplace existence as a mother and housekeeper, though."  
  
"True. I would go mad." Then she studied his eyes more closely. "Would you really take me along with you?"  
  
"If you were sensible; if you could put aside your urge to act like a silly, lovesick twit and move along with your life. But regrettably, you cannot."  
  
"No," she murmured. "I can't."  
  
Abruptly she climbed from the bed and stooped to pick up her garments tossed carelessly to the ground.  
  
"I'd better head back to bed now," she explained in response to his curious gaze. "It's late."  
  
"Yes, it is," he agreed. She stopped still and stared at him. Was she insane, or did she see a hint of sadness in his deep, fathomless eyes? Giving her head a shake to clear it, she proceeded with the business of getting dressed. Finally, unlatching and opening the door, she turned back.  
  
"Good-night," she called softly.  
  
"Good-night," he replied.  
  
  
  
After that night, all returned to normal between the two. Their interaction went on much as it always had, that the rest of the group might not suspect anything between them. Their secret meetings continued to happen with the same frequency, but neither ever spoke of their conversation that night, choosing physical over verbal means of expression. It is reasonably certain, though, that the words spoken that night were never far from the mind of either.  
  
One night some weeks later, after the great threat to the safety of the world had been bravely and staunchly met and defeated, and the band of heroes gathered in the dining and drinking area of an inn to celebrate their victory, she hung back from the revelry, her mind dissecting and reassembling various thoughts. Finally, she reached a decision. Rising from her chair, she strode across the room toward him, where he was leaned against the wall in a darker corner, also predictably choosing to avoid the merry-making of their friends.  
  
He watched her approach with no small amount of surprise registering on his countenance for a brief moment before he could smooth it back into a non- committal mask. Even then, the surprise remained in his eyes.  
  
"Yes?" he inquired, faintly amused, as she stopped in front of him, gazing down at the ground, two spots of colour staining her cheeks.  
  
"I-I think I'm ready to be sensible," she managed to choke out. "And I was wondering if I could come with you."  
  
He stared at her, quite at a loss. Apparently, these words were the last he had expected from her. The silence between them seemed to stretch out forever. Certainly, she was beginning to find it unbearably awkward. Alright, she was reasonably sure that he was going to refuse. She wished, though, that he would just hurry up and do it!  
  
And so, she was utterly taken aback when he ran an index finger gently down the side of her face and beneath her chin, lifting her head so that he could meet her gaze. He nodded almost imperceptibly, then leaned in to kiss her softly.  
  
"Can I consider that a proposal?" she wondered aloud, trying vainly to suppress a grin.  
  
He smiled dryly.  
  
"I think it would be a safe assumption."  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: [Shakes head] Oy. Well, now you know what happens when Rhianwen is struck by inspiration to write at three-thirty in the morning, while under the influence of Slurpee, and listening to Sarah McLachlan. :o) Be glad that this doesn't happen often. Hey! I think this is the first serious thing I've ever written! Waay! Waay! It was so tempting to give it the original depressing ending, but I'm just too much of a relentless 'shipper for that. Happy endings are happier, anyway, right? Hee! That made no sense! Or else way too much sense. Uh...anyway...please be kind and review! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease? Even if you just want to say 'You suck, Rhianwen!' Any feedback at all is appreciated. Really, really, really appreciated. Although this is not a beg. [Sheepish grin] Okay, maybe it is. 


End file.
